Pain Lies On The Riverside
by 7DeadlyKings
Summary: AU. It's the Apocalypse. Castiel has lost something important and he'd do just about anything to get it back. Anything except ask for help, that is. Eventual Destiel. Lots of characters from the show will be making appearances, just not how you might expect. Hunter!Castiel and demon!Dean. Sequel to "Deadly Sins." Not required reading but it would help.
1. Chapter 1

SUMMARY: _ It's the Apocalypse. Castiel is a human and a hunter. Dean is a demon. It's obviously AU and that's what makes it fun._

_Castiel has lost something important and he'd do just about anything to get it back. Anything except ask for help, that is. Eventual Destiel. Lots of characters from the show will be making appearances (just not always how you would expect.) :D And it's probably go M. Run away now if you like.  
_

_Continuation of the story "Deadly Sins." It's not absolutely essential that you read that one but it would probably help._

**Disclaimer:**_ I still don't own Supernatural and it still makes me sad. So continue to not sue me, please. Thank you._

* * *

**Pain Lies On The Riverside**

Castiel glares at the dash of his stolen car and checks his speed yet again because he can't possibly be going sixty five. The seats are lumpy, the upholstery dotted with mystery stains. Not like his car. His car is pristine. And it better be pristine when he finds it too.

He presses his lips tight, watching the road for clues. So far it's nothing but endless country back roads and scrubby trees. Couldn't the demon at least have run off to someplace a little more interesting?

Suddenly Castiel smiles. It sits a little awkward on his lips but it's there and it's genuine.

Dean.

Castiel can feel the distance closing between them and he hasn't even had a drink in days. The sky is almost painfully clear. The horizon doesn't shift and twitch when he stares too long. Everything is clear and logical. It's an unfamiliar feeling.

He's been driving for hours, waiting for something that looks like the silhouette of his car when he hits a fork in the road and sighs. His legs ache for a stretch anyway.

The driver's side door pops open with a creak, belying the newness of the car, and Castiel runs his legs out onto the gravel shoulder. Midnight blue sky overhead and not another car as far as the eye can see. He leaves the door open and the keys in the ignition, just in case, and steps up a few feet towards the fork in the road. With a thumb he opens the top button of his shirt and tugs out the chain hanging there, warm from his skin. The angel wing pendant dangles from his finger, twinkling in the glare of the headlights, the last reminder of Rachel and certainly a better one than his final memories of her, beaten and bloody. He'd rather envision her as a delicate silver charm instead of a mangled body anyway.

He groans and scratches the back of his neck, ruffling the short hairs there. So much for his good mood.

He holds the necklace at arm's length and watches it swing in a lazy circle, swirling and spinning until he's just about hypnotized. Maybe a little dizzy too. Slowly the circle shrinks, back and forth, back and forth, turning the necklace into a tiny pendulum that points him onward. Castiel looks down the fork to the left, palming the necklace, before hopping back into the car and taking off.

He's getting close.

* * *

When he finally spots his car abandoned in a field, Castiel almost drives off the road. And into a ditch. For a moment he forgets how to drive all together, how to press the brake pedal, because the back end of his car is kissing a tree, the metal twisted and crumpled in on itself. Like a beer can crushed against an idiot's forehead. The trunk hangs agape like it can't believe what's happened to it but the sigil is still there, bright white paint fairly gleaming in the moonlight. Completely useless now. Castiel doesn't need to get closer to know the Colt is gone. Probably anything else he had of value too.

Then he nearly rams a sturdy looking oak with the stolen car he's supposed to be driving. He slams on the brakes just before he coasts into an accident and flies out the door and over to his car as if he's sprouted wings. Hands rifle through the supplies in his trunk, searching, even though he knows he won't find what he's looking for. When Castiel's knuckles brush the worn upholstery at the bottom of the trunk, he growls.

It seems like an appropriate time to yell something loud and profane. Or to scream the demon's name—_Dean!_—at the sky. These are the kinds of things that happen in the movies Gabriel watches in between jobs, forcing Castiel to sit with him until all hours of the night if he can't come up with a quick enough excuse. Castiel's never understood why he does it. They're not brothers, not related by anything but a common goal, and Castiel makes no secret of the fact he dislikes the movies. But, appropriate or not, on this night Castiel stands in the field beside his misused car and frowns in silence. It would be a waste of breath and energy to yell. He has better uses for that energy.

Instead, he rearranges the contents of his trunk and slams it shut. Or tries. The demon has made that impossible. Castiel tries a second time with no more success and finally bungees it closed to keep it from flapping while he drives into the nearest town.

By the time he gets there, Castiel has moved from quietly seething to visibly livid. It doesn't help when his phone rings in his pocket again.

"Yes?" Castiel snaps into the phone.

"Whoa!" says Gabriel and Castiel can picture the stunned look on his face. "What got your knickers in a knot?"

"What do you need?" Castiel glides into a parking space at the first motel he sees and take another moment to eye the bouncing lid of his trunk in the rear view mirror. He's gonna enjoy getting his hands on that demon.

"Please tell me you're not still chasing demon tail," Gabriel says, obviously unwilling to be the first to answer a question properly.

Castiel sighs. This could go on all night. "What is it that you need, Gabriel?" he asks in a more controlled tone.

"You been drinking?" Gabriel asks.

"No. I haven't."

"Maybe you should start. Forgot how pissy you are sober," Gabriel says with a smirk in his voice. Then there's a click as his ubiquitous sucker hits his teeth. "Anyway, where are you?"

"I'm not interested in any haunted houses right now," Castiel interrupts, rubbing a hand over his eyes. At the moment he's only interested in sleep. And getting payback for his ruined trunk.

"Nah," Gabriel says. "We're off ghost duty. Looking for some demons. Oughta be right up your alley."

Castiel drops his head to the steering wheel and closes his eyes. Something tells him this is not a conversation he can back out of. "Tell me more," he says because he knows Gabriel was going to anyway.

* * *

The phone stays pressed to Castiel's ear while he checks in and drags his bags to his new motel room. Gabriel never stops talking, not even when Castiel almost drops the phone trying to juggle his bags so he can unlock the door. Gabriel is still talking while Castiel lays down salt lines along the windows and lights a smudge to purify the room. He doesn't require more from Castiel than an available ear and the occasional grunt of acknowledgment to verify he's still listening with that ear. Despite himself, Castiel ends up paying attention.

"And this is happening where?" Castiel asks, dragging the motel paper closer to him with a finger while he switches the phone to his other ear. He roots around until he finds a pen, writing down the information so he won't forget it by the morning. Not even curiosity could compel him to call Gabriel back if he didn't have to.

"But don't head out there yet," Gabriel finishes hastily. "We need some prep first. This thing is big, whatever it is. Which is why I'm calling. We need stuff."

"And here I thought you really cared," Castiel deadpans before he can catch himself.

Gabriel is just as surprised.

"Was that… a joke?" he asks as if he's afraid it might be true.

"I suppose it was," Castiel says.

Then Gabriel shrugs, brushing the phone with a rush like crashing waves, and starts worrying the sucker in his mouth again. Click, click. "Maybe hanging out with a demon is good for you." He crunches down on the hard candy and brushes the phone with another shrug. "Anyway, how 'bout we meet halfway? We can head out east together from there."

"Whatever you think is best," Castiel says because he's heading east one way or another. Gabriel's news has him intrigued.

"Well okay then." Gabriel makes a half assed attempt at pleasantries before they hang up with an awkward goodbye and a plan to meet up in two days.

Castiel sets his phone aside and can't quite contain the smile that curls his lips. For once, a phone call from Gabriel has improved his mood. Will wonders never cease?

* * *

It takes Castiel two hours to get everything arranged in his room. Most hunters travel light but Castiel isn't most hunters. He's a traveling library at the best of times. Lately he's a library and a well stocked supply cabinet. He can thank the apocalypse for that one, too, but he'd rather not.

If only he'd had time to find another abandoned house to squat in.

Castiel stands back to admire his handiwork. The devil's trap chalked onto the linoleum tile is sadly temporary. Paint would have been better but he doesn't want anyone remembering him too well when he leaves this place. So chalk it is. Then he settles into a chair, puts his feet up on the table, and starts mixing up a summoning spell. He hums a little as he does it, can't remember the name of the song or where he's heard it, but it takes his mind off how stupid he's about to be. As an afterthought, Castiel pours himself a few fingers of whiskey to calm the nerves he didn't even know he had. That's about all the stalling he can manage.

Then, match lit, it's too late to regret anything. The summoning spell flares up with a hiss and the stench of sulfur. When the smoke clears a second later, the demon is there.

Castiel takes a moment to check him over. The body is the same as last time. Tall and dense with muscle, close cropped brown hair, and barely there freckles that make him look more innocent than he is. Dean.

"Son of a bitch!" Dean's eyes go black in anger and he throws himself at the invisible wall of the devil's trap though he knows he won't make it through. His nostrils flare. He stills at the edge of the trap, already plotting. Castiel can't help thinking he looks like a bull in a cartoon, snorting so furiously.

"Hello, Dean," Castiel says. He sets the bowl from the spell aside, calmly clearing away the leftover ingredients and stowing them in a bag.

"Devil's trap? Again?"

Castiel raises an eyebrow, not quite sure what the question is supposed to be. "Yes," he says finally.

Dean stares at him before his head finally drops. When he looks up again there's a wicked gleam in his eyes. Green, Castiel can see now that there's proper light. "You know, if you wanted to tie me up you could just use rope," he says.

"I'll keep that in mind."

Dean is silent for a moment before he chuckles, head cocked to one side, looking Castiel up and down. Then he mutters, "Kinky bastard," under his breath. "What do you want?" he asks a little louder. He folds his arms over his chest. "I already got rid of the Colt, if that's what you're after."

Castiel nods. He figured as much but he can find it again. He's already done it once before.

"So… what do you want?" Dean says. "The staring is getting creepy."

"I'm glad," Castiel says, "that you kept that body."

"What?"

"I like it. Quite a bit," Castiel says quietly. Then he shakes himself, blinking in a flurry, and goes back to rummaging through his bag, replacing the summoning spell with a thin, leather bound book and another glass.

Dean watches every movement with a critical eye, prowling the edge of the devil's trap. "Reading me a bedtime story?"

"In a manner of speaking," Castiel says. There's a _snick_ as he strikes another match and starts lighting candles, arranging them around the cleared table.

Dean raises an eyebrow, eyes following the flames. "Aw, how romantic. Next you'll be pouring rose petals on the bed and asking me to marry you, right?"

Castiel looks up at him in surprise. "No."

"It was a joke."

"Oh." Castiel pulls the bottle of whiskey to him, spilling some into his glass. He glances at Dean again before pouring a second glass. He holds it out to Dean. "There's no holy water in it this time," he says.

"No, I trust you completely," Dean snaps but he takes it anyways, glaring for all he's worth. Then he dips the tip of a finger into the brown liquid, gingerly. Nothing happens so he takes a careful sip of the whiskey, rolling it around his tongue a moment before he swallows it down. "No holy water," Dean agrees, downing the rest of his glass in one gulp that makes his Adam's apple bob.

Without a word, Castiel holds out the bottle to Dean, tilting it into the trap so he can reach it. Dean moves quicker to take it this time.

"What is this?" Dean says.

"Whiskey."

"No. This. The liquor and the candles and the talking. I'm not your girlfriend, Cas."

"I'm aware of that," Castiel says.

"So what is this?" Dean raises an eyebrow before looking away to pour another glass.

"A spell," Castiel says, producing a knife as if out of thin air, slicing across Dean's wrist. He snatches up an empty glass to catch the dripping blood before Dean even has time to react.

"What the hell, man?" Dean cries, blood running down his forearm and splattering the floor while he figures out what to do with the bottle of whiskey. Finally he sets it down beside him, out of the way but within easy reach.

"It's a shallow cut," Castiel says, tossing him a gauze pad from the bag beside him. "It should stop bleeding soon." He hovers over the table, dropping herbs and assorted odds and ends into a bowl, all the while muttering to himself.

Dean nudges a toe against the edge of the circle, smudging at the chalk lines. He takes a swallow of whiskey before he speaks again. "Remind me not to take a drink from you," he mutters. "It's always a trick."

"Generally, yes," Castiel says without looking up from the bowl where he's pulverizing his mixture of herbs. Then he takes up the knife and slashes his palm, letting the blood fall into the bowl. He nods.

Dean just stares, forgetting the devil's trap around him in his curiosity. "You're some kinda crazy, aren't you?" he says quietly.

Castiel ignores him, lighting the blood and herbs with another match from his pack. The bowl flickers with sluggish flame and the room fills with a smell like incense. Not entirely unpleasant. Then the flames are doused with the glass of Dean's blood and Castiel turns away, taking everything with him. When he turns around again the bowl of herbs is gone but his hand is still sluggishly bleeding, smearing red all over everything he touches. The devil's trap is also completely useless. Smudged in a great white streak with Dean standing just outside it. He tosses back the last of the whiskey in his glass and smiles.

"Sloppy, Cas. Pretty sloppy there."

Castiel looks deep into his eyes, so deep that it's strangely unnerving. From a human.

Dean closes the gap between them in an instant, pulling Castiel forward by his shirt. "I'm gonna enjoy killing you."

Castiel just cocks his head to one side. "You'll have to get in line then." He smiles and there's something unsettling about that too. "Now let go."

Dean's hands spring free as if of their own accord and he can't help but stare at them. He clenches and unclenches his fists. Everything seems to be in working order. "What was that?"

"A spell," Castiel says. "I told you."

"What. The fuck. Did you do to me?" Dean says, looking between Castiel and his hands. "Why am I not strangling you?"

"Because you're mine now," Castiel says with a strange gleam in his eye.

Dean forces a little chuckle and glares. "Yeah. That's funny. Now fix it."

"No."

"I _will_ pull out your intestines and hang you with them."

Castiel just shakes his head. Calm as ever.

Dean clenches his fists and growls. Glaring at Castiel is like having a staring contest with a rock. "I'm keeping the whiskey," he says before snatching up the bottle and taking another swig.

"Consider it an offering," Castiel says, mouth quirking up at one corner.

Dean hates that quirk already. "It's a trick is what it is. This ain't over."

"I wouldn't expect it to be," Castiel says. "And, Dean," he adds, "make sure you keep that body."

Dean pauses in his attempt at storming out and makes a face, half sneer, half exasperation. "Don't tell me what to do." He stomps the rest of the way to the door and throws it open. "And don't summon me again."

The door slams so hard it pops open again, swinging slowly inward.

"You could have stayed," Castiel tells the now empty doorway.

* * *

Author's Note: _Hello and welcome back to our crazy AU show. Assuming you read Deadly Sins anyway. If you didn't, then "hello for the first time!"_

_As you've probably noticed, this story is set during the Apocalypse but the circumstances are vastly different from Supernatural canon. We'll explain more later if you care to stick around. I also feel like I should warn (again) that the rating on this story will undoubtedly go up to M in the coming chapters. Until then we'll leave it at a nice moderate T. But you've been warned. It's going to be M and it's going to be Destiel._

_Also, since you're getting in on the ground floor here, if there's anyone or anything you're dying to see, let me know. I'll see if I can work it in along the way. This story could go on for a while._


	2. Chapter 2

**CHAPTER 2**

When there's a knock on the door of his new motel room, Castiel glances up from the bundle in his hands but doesn't make any effort to rise from his chair. Or even to drop his feet from the table and onto the floor. He'd rather deal with demons and monsters.

"It's unlocked," Castiel says, raising his voice to be heard through the thin wood.

They don't need to be told twice. The door bursts inward and Gabriel and Michael invade his space, turning the once spacious room into something cramped and tense. Michael prowls around the four walls, checking doors and windows for salt. He pokes his head into the half open closet, shoving the mostly empty clothes hangers aside in case they're hiding a boogeyman. That finished, he perches himself on the edge of Castiel's bed since the chair is already filled. Gabriel is louder and slower, stepping lightly over the salt at the door and pausing to pull the sucker from his mouth before he speaks.

"I love what you've done with the place," Gabriel says, motioning to the drawn curtains and the candles burning on the dresser. The room is made even darker by the purple damask wallpaper on the walls."Very gothic horror. And what the hell happened to your car?"

Castiel ignores him and focuses on winding the cord around his bundle, sealing it up tight. When he's done, he peels a candle out of a cooling puddle of wax and tips it, coating the cord with a layer of quickly hardening wax.

"What's that?" Gabriel asks standing a cautious few steps away.

"Hex bag. For protection." Castiel inspects the bundle one more time before he tosses it to Gabriel. Then he grabs another similar bundle from beside him on the table and passes it on to Michael.

"What does it do?" Michael asks, dark brows furrowing as he gives the bag a sniff. "It smells like soap."

"That's the rosemary," Castiel sighs back, already rubbing his forehead with one hand. Too late he remembers that his hands are covered in ash. He swings his legs off the table and heads for the bathroom. "Don't touch anything while I'm gone."

Gabriel nods and snickers like a little boy who's waiting for the teacher to look away. Michael just gives the hex bag another sniff before pocketing it. To be safe, Castiel leaves the bathroom door ajar. And as he suspected, he can hear Gabriel poking around in something as soon as he thinks Castiel is out of earshot. One of these days, Gabriel will accidentally curse himself. And on that day, Castiel will laugh. Hard.

The bathroom light buzzes like flies when he switches it on, casting his face in sickly green. He leans over the sink.

The deadline in catching up on him already. There are dark smudges under his eyes to match the dark smudge of ash on his forehead. Lines around his eyes that weren't there before. But he forces his expression to stay passive. Neutral. Michael and Gabriel would never leave it alone if they knew about his deal and that's something Castiel can't have. If he can't fix it, he'll go down fighting, with no one the wiser. He'd rather be mourned than pitied as a fool.

Castiel gives himself another hard shake and splashes cold water into his face until he feels like he's drowning.

When he steps out of the bathroom, Gabriel is taking up the entire bed with his careless sprawl. One of his movies is on the TV, already in the middle of a choreographed action sequence complete with flying bullets and, in this case, a flare gun. Michael has disappeared. Castiel hopes he's gone to get the two of them checked in to their own room.

"So," Gabriel says without turning around, "why the change of heart?"

Castiel says nothing, ostensibly waiting for clarification. Gabriel isn't fooled but he gives it anyway. "A few months ago you were headed for a not entirely early grave. To what do we owe this sudden will to live?"

"I changed my mind," Castiel says because it's the shortest answer he can get away with.

Gabriel trades the empty paper stick from his sucker for a fresh candy bar shooting Castiel another raised eyebrow. "You know you can ask for help if you need it." The sincerity of his words is slightly muffled by the crunching of peanuts from his candy bar.

"I'm aware."

"But I know you won't." Gabriel turns back to the movie where the hero, shirt torn and hair stringy with rain, is fighting the foppish villain on the roof of a church.

Castiel watches in silence for a moment before gesturing at the screen. "Why is his face painted like a mime? He's talking so he can't be a mime."

Gabriel sighs, the special kind of world weary sigh he reserves for Castiel and his questions. "He's not a mime," Gabriel says. "It's like a mask—Never mind. Just watch the movie."

Castiel does as he's told, leaning back against the wall so he can see the screen better. The picture is dark, marred with falling rain and the poor reception of the motel TV. The hero with the painted face grapples gets stabbed, spewing blood but still talking as he puts his hands to the villain's head.

"_Thirty hours of pain. All at once. All for you,"_ says the hero as the screen flashes with blood and a silent woman in a hospital bed.

Castiel looks away. Something about the woman reminds him of Rachel though he couldn't say why. "I appreciate your concern," Castiel says, so quiet he hopes that Gabriel will let it pass unnoticed.

And for once he does. Mostly. Gabriel gives a silent nod before he starts feeling along the side of the bed, looking for the strap of his bag. He tugs it up onto the bed beside him and fishes out a little packet. "Almost forgot. I brought you something." He waves the envelope in Castiel's direction, pulling it back when Castiel moves to take it. "I didn't hear a thank you."

"Thank you," Castiel says, opening the envelope with all the care he can manage and peering inside.

"Don't say I never gave you anything," Gabriel says.

Castiel just nods his agreement and tucks the envelope into his back pocket. By then the movie has ended with a final reminder that "real love is forever." Castiel can't help wondering about that, about the bounds of love. He hasn't had much experience there. He's much more familiar with pain and suffering.

The door flies open again and they both turn in unison. Michael pauses in the doorway to nod to Castiel. Then his eyes slide over to Gabriel. "Get your stuff. We'll drop it in the room before we get dinner."

"I was watching a movie," Gabriel protests, waving a hand at the TV.

"Looks like it's over to me."

"You're a slave driver, you know that? I'm a big boy. I don't need a chaperon."

Michael smiles tightly. "Impromptu orgy," he says, enunciating each syllable carefully.

"Oh come on! That was one time," Gabriel cries, jumping to his feet.

"On my bed."

"It was closer."

"I was already using it."

"Oops?" Gabriel says with a smile. He shoulders his bag and sidles towards the door. "I thought you were still out. It's not my fault you go to bed by ten." On his way he stops to give Castiel a pat on the shoulder. "You eat yet? You can come, too. Michael's buying."

"No, thank you," Castiel says, biting the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling at the exchange. Michael taps his foot while he ticks off the seconds it takes for Gabriel to gather his things. And Gabriel is still trying to justify bringing three women back to their motel room.

"One of 'em was for you. I swear," Gabriel says, throwing Castiel a quick wave, as he follows Michael out the door.

The room seems oppressively quiet with them gone.

Castiel stares at one wall after another, pausing in the middle to turn off the TV as movie credits turn to evening news. Castiel knows what they're going to say before they say it. Natural disasters are on the rise, taking out entire towns in one fell swoop. Of course, no one is saying the things that he knows to be true. It's the Apocalypse and this is only the beginning. Everywhere he turns there are demons or ghosts ready to slit an innocent's throat. It's exhausting.

With a nod to his empty room, Castiel grabs his bag and heads out the door, slamming it behind him in his haste. He has no desire to sit alone and think about all the things that are wrong with the world. Not right now. There are preparations to be made. He can already feel his life slipping away a little faster each day. There's no time to waste. Not if he wants to save himself or anyone else.

* * *

It doesn't matter that Castiel doesn't know anyone in this particular cemetery. Cemeteries are largely the same all over. Same headstones with carved cherubs and little etched crosses. A crucifix here, a towering angel there. A wilting bouquet of flowers to show someone's visited but not nearly often enough.

He leaps the fence with practiced ease but one of the wrought iron spikes catch the bag on his shoulder, trying to yank it away. He wrestles it free and starts across the uneven grass. The sky overhead is still a plum shade of dusk, making everything feel like a secret. His feet whisper on the grass. If he was superstitious, he would say it sounds like voices, ghosts calling to him from their graves. But he knows too much to be superstitious. Of course there are ghosts here, but the few of them are too preoccupied with their own deaths to pay him any mind. Lucky bastards.

Castiel picks a spot near a clump of well groomed shrubs, pruned into lopsided spires. Beside it there's a low stone marker bearing the name of Scott Wheeling. Dead more than ten years already. Castiel pulls a jar and shovel from his bag. Can never have too much graveyard dirt. He fills up the jar and trades his supplies for a bottle of whiskey, perching on the grave marker of Scott Wheeling. He toasts the countless dead around him with a raise of the bottle before he takes a drink. Then he pours a little into the grass beside him. "Cheers."

He's been a good boy lately. Been watching how much he drinks, eating at least twice a day. Sometimes three. So it's a bit of a surprise when Castiel looks at the bottle clenched in one hand and realizes it's more than halfway gone. And somewhere along the line he slid from the stone marker and into the grass.

Everything about it makes him laugh. He lies back on the grave of what's-his-name and chuckles, shoulders silently shaking while the damp grass tickles the back of his neck.

There's a rustle, too solid for a ghost.

"Had a feeling you'd be here." Gabriel hovers into view overhead. "What'd you take this time?"

Castiel holds up the bottle of whiskey.

"At least that's an improvement." Gabriel tugs it from his fingers and passes it along to Michael. Castiel hadn't even noticed him standing like a disapproving oak just behind his brother. Then Gabriel hauls Castiel up by the arms and points him back towards the gates of the cemetery.

"We'll come back for your car tomorrow," Gabriel says. "You're not going anywhere else tonight."

Castiel nods, smiling broadly.

They shuffle him into the back of Michael's Jeep in silence. Drive in silence. Arrive back at the motel in silence.

"I can walk," Castiel says when they escort him up to his room.

"Don't complain," Michael says, stern as ever, tone barely softened by the warmth in his eyes. "Our room is just down the hall anyway."

Gabriel takes the keys from Castiel's hand and unlocks the door, pushing it wide, without a word.

"No more field trips," Gabriel says, already over the threshold carrying Castiel's supply bag. He makes a noise, half strangled, and stops so suddenly that Castiel walks right into him.

"Uh, who's that?" Gabriel says, pointing. There's a man hunched beside the bed.

Castiel glances over the top of Gabriel's head and into a pair of startled green eyes. For a moment, Castiel is happy to see that Dean kept the same body as he was told. Then Castiel takes in the carefully sorted supplies scattered across the floor amidst clothes and books. Dean's tossed the contents of nearly every one of Castiel's bags already. His head hurts just looking at it. He glances down. The salt line at the door is all but gone. So much for protection.

In the next instant, Michael shoves both Castiel and Gabriel aside, gun drawn and aimed at Dean's head. "Who are you?" he barks. He tosses a look back at Castiel. "Who is he?"

Castiel puts a hand to his head and tries to squeeze away the ache in his temples. "Dean. He's… a friend."

"Never heard of him," Michael says.

Gabriel raises a curious eyebrow.

Dean straightens from his crouch, eyes slipping between the three men. Castiel can practically see the wheels turning in his head but he doesn't much care for the dark look spreading in Dean's eyes. "You weren't supposed to be here until tomorrow," Castiel says with a meaningful stare at the demon.

Dean's eyes widen, the initial confusion quickly turning into something else. Wicked glee. His frown shifts into a crooked smile. "My mistake. But I just couldn't wait to see you again."

"What?" Castiel says, Gabriel and Michael echoing the question barely a second later.

"What? You didn't tell 'em about me, Cas? And after everything we've been through together. I'm hurt." Dean's smile only grows as he steps up to sling an arm around Castiel's shoulders, pulling him away from the others, grazing his cheek with a kiss. At the touch, Castiel stills. His foggy brain struggles to catch up but his body is already interested. Then Dean has him pressed to the wall, hands bracketing his shoulders, mouth covering his. Castiel groans, catching Dean's lower lip in his teeth.

"Castiel?" Michael looks between the two of them, questions all over his face.

Gabriel slaps a hand on Michael's shoulder and tugs him backwards. "Well now. Why don't we let the lovebirds get back to… whatever it is they've been doing?" His grin is wide enough to split his face. As he backs out of the room with Michael in tow, he chuckles. "Don't do anything I wouldn't do, kids."

Even after the door slams behind them, Gabriel's chuckles echo down the hall.

* * *

Author's Note: _Why are these chapters so hard to write? I didn't have this problem when I was writing gen. (: Oh well. Hope you're enjoying it so far. More to come… uh, no pun intended. Or maybe it was. You be the judge. :D_

_Oh, and Gabriel was watching _The Crow_ in Castiel's room. You know, in case you were wondering. It was a real movie. And now you know which one._

_Thanks for reading!_


	3. Chapter 3

**CHAPTER 3**

Castiel barely hears the door slam behind Gabriel and Michael. He's too busy mapping the contours of Dean's back, fingers digging into the muscle, teeth tugging at the puckered lips over his. The bastard is good. Gotta give him that. His tongue sweeps over Castiel's lower lip, dipping inside again and he hums, low in his throat, pulling Dean closer. And then there's a forearm pressed to his throat so hard he can barely breathe. His eyes fly to Dean's-gone black again-and the wicked smile on his spit slicked lips. Castiel shouldn't find it as attractive as he does. He hunts monsters. He doesn't fuck them. Except that he has.

"You're losing your touch there, Cas." Dean digs his arm into Castiel's throat a little harder, nearly cutting off the air all together. His other hand is busy patting down Castiel's body, hunting for something decidedly less interesting than he had been a second ago.

Castiel waits patiently for him to finish. "I hid it," he says. "The binding spell. It's gone."

The demon growls, slamming him back against the wall. "Where?"

Castiel cocks an eyebrow at him but says nothing.

Dean paces in in an anxious dance, eyes never straying far. "I can't give you your soul back," Dean says finally. "Not my department."

"I expected as much," Castiel says. He had hoped, for a moment, but he had never expected it to be that simple. Castiel slides past him, eyeing the mess that had been his carefully organized collection. "You _will_ fix this," he says without turning back to Dean. He can feel his nearness. Just as he'd felt his distance earlier.

"Screw you."

"You belong to me until I say otherwise," Castiel says, the full weight of his frown falling on the demon. "You should show me some respect."

"I'm not your damn toy."

"No," Castiel agrees. "You're much better than that."

Dean stares back, licking his lips and clearing his throat in the silence. Eventually he looks away. "Next you'll be asking me to wear a damn maid's outfit and call you 'sir.'" He squats to swipe a bag off of the floor, grumbling under his breath.

"It's a thought."

Dean's head snaps back up, eyes wide, before he catches the twitch of Castiel's lips. "No. I prefer you like this," Castiel says.

"That's not really reassuring, Cas."

Castiel pauses at the nickname. It makes a strange, dangerous warmth blossom in his chest. The familiarity. "Be careful with those things." He gestures to the small, velvet bags clenched in Dean's fist. "They're worth more than you or me. Possibly combined."

Dean looks down at the bags, unimpressed. He works the drawstring open on one. "What the hell is in here?" he asks, making a face and closing the bag up again.

"You don't want to know."

Castiel watches Dean's clumsy progress for another minute. His hands are large, engulfing the tiny bags and boxes that are Castiel's movable pantry, but they're surprisingly careful. He gathers each one, laying it out on the bed, a wrinkle between his brows and a complaint on his lips. "I don't even know where this shit is supposed to go."

"That's good enough. You got most of it." Castiel collects his bags and the lockboxes that Dean somehow managed to unlock and sets them on the bed beside his supplies. He picks up the nearest box, inspecting the lock. It's fine. Not busted like he expected. "How did you open this?"

His answer is a smirk. "You think I can't pick a lock?" Dean says. He folds his arms over his chest. "If that stuff is so valuable you should hide it better."

"It's only valuable in the right hands. To you, it would be useless." Castiel tests the lock once more before he loads up the box, pushing the lid closed with a click and moving on to the next one.

Dean hovers in his peripheral vision. Castiel works in silence, waiting for him to ask the question on his lips. "When do your hunter friends come back to exorcise me?"

"They won't. They believed your story," Castiel answers serenely.

Another box filled and relocked, he starts sorting bottles of oil and bags of dried herbs. In his mad scramble earlier, Dean had crumbled the dried flowers. Castiel frowns at the plastic bag of pinkish dust, turning it this way and that, before he shrugs and puts it with the others. The damage shouldn't affect their usability. At least he hopes not. And always in the corner of his eye is Dean. Spell or no spell, it would be unwise to turn his back on the demon for long. He might actually end up dead this time and, as the deadline draws nearer, Castiel finds he's grown greedier with his time. He has no intention of starting his forever sentence one minute earlier than he must. It would be a sound plan if not for the fact that he runs towards danger for a living. In his estimation, that must make him at least ten different kinds of idiot but who's counting? He takes a moment to consider that while he checks over the rest of his stock.

The room is small even by motel standards, cluttered by the little table and full sized bed, and Dean has already paced the entire length of it a dozen times. He stops beside the dresser, prodding the snuffed candles before swiping a book sitting all alone on the corner. He chuckles and holds it up. "The Inferno? Really, Cas?"

"It's a classic."

Dean flips through the pages before tossing the book at the bed. "You looking for a guide book? Hell for Dummies? If I was you I'd be looking for a way out, not timeshares."

At that Castiel turns on the bed, resting a hand on his knee. "What do you think I've been doing?" His eyes meet Dean's and hold. It's strange, being in a room with a demon, looking at it, at the thing inside, and knowing that he's destined to be just the same. The blackness in the eyes. The same malicious soul. Undoing years of work because of a moment's stupidity. Castiel blinks. He needs a drink. He's starting to feel a little too sober again and this is no time for a maudlin showing of regret.

The whiskey bottle is stashed in the bottom of the otherwise empty dresser beneath coils of rope and sheathed knives, safe from Gabriel's inspection. As Castiel fishes for the bottle, Dean bends to eye the contents of the drawer. He whistles. "Quite the hobby you got there, Cas."

Castiel slants a look up at Dean. Then he takes a swig from the bottle and heads back to the bundled clutter on the bed. He shuffles them around again, stacking the filled boxes against the wall. The rest he takes to the round table in the corner. The remains of the hex bags are still scattered on the table. Bits of string and blobs of red wax dot the scarred laminate top. He lays a cloth over it all, smoothing it down the best he can. "I'll be leaving tomorrow, no later than ten in the morning," he says without looking up.

"Yeah, that's really interesting."

"You're coming with." The look in his eyes dares argument. He drags the chair around, straddling it, arms resting on the back.

"You've been sniffing too much glue there, Cas."

"I just finished explaining the situation to you. Should I explain it again?" Castiel asks with lethal calm.

Dean scowls. His face darkens as he presses his lips together. "I'm gonna enjoy watching you die."

Castiel nods. He'll have his chance soon enough.

* * *

"What's he doing here?" Michael asks, squinting in the late morning sun as if he's never seen it before. His eyes stay pinned to Dean standing at Castiel's side.

"Smooth, bro. Very smooth," Gabriel says, coming up behind him and giving him a pat on the chest. "I think it's absolutely adorable that Castiel wants to bring his boyfriend along."

Castiel and Dean simultaneously tense at the word 'boyfriend' but neither of them corrects Gabriel. The truth is so much more problematic. The corner of Dean's mouth quirks up in a smile, the kind of smile that makes Castiel check for missing weapons.

Gabriel glances around the parking lot as if he's memorizing the whole scene for posterity. "I didn't hear any banging last night, if you know what I mean," he says with a crooked smile. "Did we interrupt the honeymoon? Don't tell me you had performance anxiety, Castiel." Castiel tries to stop the onslaught of words coming from Gabriel's mouth but it's too late. "I guess now we know why you turned down all those girls I tossed your way."

"Please stop," Castiel says before he can get any further. It's not so much a request as it is an unspoken promise of violence. Gabriel takes one look at him and sighs.

"You need to lighten up, kiddo." He shrugs. "Oh well. You ready for Wally World?"

Behind him, Michael tosses another scowl at Dean before turning back to Gabriel. "I don't like this."

"You don't like anything. Now come on. Daylight's wasting and we're stopping for lunch this time. No more gas station burritos. Castiel's a growing boy. He needs to keep up his strength," he says with a leer.

Michael and Castiel frown at him but it does nothing to dim the sunshine of Gabriel's smirk. "I can tell already. This is going to be a fantastic trip."

* * *

Author's Note: _So… this chapter was a long time coming. I apologize. I actually had it written again ago. Then proper novel writing got in the way as it so often does and I didn't have time to edit it. Hope you enjoyed the chapter even if it was unforgivably late. I'll try and be quicker next time._

_Thanks for reading!_

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